


Prick

by grimeysociety



Series: Prick [1]
Category: Knives Out (2019), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, No Spoilers for Knives Out, POV Darcy Lewis, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Pre-Knives Out, Sweatershock, eat shit eat shit eat shit DEFINITELY eat shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22433737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimeysociety/pseuds/grimeysociety
Summary: Darcy's back in town for her cousin's wedding.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Darcy Lewis
Series: Prick [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094981
Comments: 49
Kudos: 315
Collections: Ladies of Marvel Bingo 2019





	Prick

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Hell! There's beer, also... I wrote this for Ladies of Marvel Bingo 2019, specifically the square N5: "Wedding Day". This fic is thanks in part to crimtastic ([His Lady Disdain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22281145)). Also thank you to sarahbeniel for helping me figure some parts out. 
> 
> Writing Ransom was so much fun! Ugh. What an asshole. ❤

_Your life is a mess and so is mine_  
_You're a piece of shit and so am I_  
**\- "Ur A Piece Of Shit" by Ali Barter**

_What is it about them?_  
_I must be missing something_  
**\- "xanny" by Billie Eilish**

_Sugar coated melting in your mouth_  
_Pardon my emotions_  
_I should probably keep it all to myself_  
_Know you'd make fun of me_  
**\- "Bags" by Clairo**

_How does it feel to be_  
_One of the beautiful people?_  
**\- "Baby You're a Rich Man" by The Beatles**

Darcy was surprised she managed to get this far.

Between the airport, her mother’s house and the church, there were several times when she managed to convince herself not to go. She hadn’t seen a lot of these people in years. She had mixed feelings toward marriage in general (thanks, Dad). She didn’t think anyone would miss her. She was sure that she’d stick out for all the wrong reasons, like always.

She justified it all at first by the way Jane kept looking at her with those judgy eyebrows of hers, telling her Darcy’s mom Rebecca would appreciate the visit. If Jane was telling her to take a break, Darcy knew things were dire.

The morning of the wedding, her mother had to open the curtains wide and shake her shoulder. All Darcy wanted then was to stay, to make pancakes and watch a movie with her, but her dress was hanging in its dry-cleaning bag on the back of her chair like an animal skin, and she couldn’t stop staring at it in the dark the night before.

“I’m up, I’m up,” she mumbled, promptly rolling over and burying herself further into the blankets.

Rebecca poked her through the thick blankets, tutting.

“Come on, honey,” she said, “It might be fun.”

“ _Might_ isn’t enough for me,” Darcy mumbled.

“When has that ever stopped you before?” Rebecca said, sitting down on the bed, and Darcy rolled back a little, squinting up at her. “You never took a day off school. I still have that perfect attendance plaque somewhere in the attic.”

“It’s shit like that I don’t need to be reminded of,” Darcy muttered, rubbing her eyes. She felt swollen all over, groggy. “It’s why I didn’t come back for the reunion last year. And every time I go away, the appeal is on par with a pap smear.”

“Oh, very dramatic,” Rebecca said, smiling. “Come on, I’ve got coffee on.”

“ _No_ ,” Darcy groaned, drawing out the word. “Please don’t make me go.”

“I won’t,” Rebecca retorted, getting up. Her hands were on her hips. “Except I know you won’t be seeing your cousin walk down the aisle again.”

“How come you weren’t subjected to an invitation from the Lewises?” Darcy snapped

It irritated her that she was already thinking of her dumbass cousin Alfie’s deflated look when he’d see her missing from the reception. Rebecca smirked at her, aware that the plan was in motion.

“I saw Alfie and Cecelia last week,” Rebecca replied. “Took a whole basket of goodies over, told them I humbly accepted their apology for not being invited.”

“That’s so unfair,” Darcy grumbled, finally flinging the blanket off and swinging her legs around, folding her arms. “Why can’t I be cut out, too?”

“You’re a Lewis, honey,” Rebecca said, and Darcy sighed loudly. “That used to be a good thing.”

“Never was,” Darcy muttered, and Rebecca gave her own sigh.

“Do you want something for breakfast?”

“You got bleach I can swallow?”

“Sure, under the kitchen sink, where it always is,” Rebecca replied, and she walked out, leaving Darcy to her dreaded dress.

-

She told herself she wasn’t killing herself to be cute, but she wasn’t going to fool anyone. She had tried, big time, to look good for Alfie’s wedding.

She borrowed Rebecca’s out station wagon and parked it around the corner from the church, checking her makeup in the mirror before taking a deep breath and stepping out of the car with a slam of the door. She could see strangers in formal wear walking up from their cars, the majority of them in luxury vehicles, a few Lamborghinis and Ferraris, and some were ducking out of Lincoln town cars. It reminded her of Will and Kate’s wedding, and she wondered if any celebrities could be stopping by… but so far she had to assume they were New England elite, and she was not up to the standard.

Her dress felt too tight, though it wasn’t. It fit perfectly, but she’d never worn something like this to a Lewis event before. She was dressed age-appropriately for once, teetering in high heels. She fiddled with the ring on her middle finger that was the size of a jawbreaker, plucking a stray hair from her clutch as she began the trek up to the church.

She should have done a little research on Facebook to gauge who would be coming, but so far she’d only used her phone that morning to send off a series of annoyed texts to Jane, such as:

**_Why did you make me come here? What if I burst into flames when I step inside the church?_ **

Jane hadn’t replied. She was probably neck deep in some breakthrough Darcy wasn’t part of, so she couldn’t stop her boss from staying up all hours. She wished she was in Manhattan, stuck on the subway somewhere, grumbling about being out of bagels, maybe cleaning her shower, _something that wasn’t this._ Her nerves were getting to her as she made her way up to the crowd walking inside the church. She fished out her invitation and showed it to the usher, who smiled down at her and waved her inside.

Cecilia was a Lockwood. Their clan seemed to blend perfectly with the Lewis one, and Darcy wasn’t sure who was what when she made her way down the pews, peering around for some neutral territory.

“Darcy?”

She turned her head, and she froze, seeing Linda and Richard Drysdale standing in their pew, in the middle of shaking hands with some other folks.

“How long has it been?” Linda said, and she moved toward Darcy with her arms lifting, and Darcy kept still, staring at Richard behind Linda’s back when the older woman hugged her.

“I have no idea,” Darcy managed to reply, a nervous laugh escaping her.

She felt several other people staring at her, the little interaction enough to peak their interest. She flashed a warmer smile, seeing the Drysdales scan her. She seemed to pass some test, there was no curled lips or shrewd narrowing of eyes like high school.

Richard moved to kiss her cheek and she felt his hand on her back, the touch nothing like anything he’d done before. He usually never came close to her. She was Alfie’s weird little cousin, bookish and rough around the edges.

“You look well,” he said, and she felt the world shift a little.

He saw her as a contemporary, now, or close enough. She’d tried to not physically recoil when he held her hand, squeezing it affectionately. Darcy supposed she was free game.

“Thank you, so do you,” she replied. She looked at Linda. “Your dress is lovely.”

“Thank you, I like your _bling_ ,” Linda replied, with a chuckle. It sounded like she was trying out a new word, and there was the distinct cringiness that came with someone trying to relate to another outside of their demographic. “Very _cool_. Where are you sitting?”

“No idea,” Darcy said, and she remembered she already used the phrase. “I mean, I have no plans. Is your son -?”

She wanted to avoid saying his name out loud if she could. Richard burst into a smile.

“They managed to peel themselves off from the hotel bathroom floor,” he chuckled, and Linda touched his arm, a warning that he behaved. “He and the other groomsmen.”

Darcy nodded, looking over at the altar. It was the perfect opportunity to escape.

“I must say hello to my cousin,” she said, lifting a hand to wave to the Drysdales. “Excuse me.”

Linda looked like she wanted to say more but Darcy swiftly turned her back, stepping back into the aisle to walk up to the man standing at the altar, his head bent, rubbing his nose with his finger.

He looked up from the carpet, his mouth breaking into a broad smile. Handsome, goofy Alfie. Darcy could hate the rest of her family, but never him.

“Darce! Fucking A!” he yelled, and Darcy laughed, launching herself at him in a tight hug. He pulled back, hands on her shoulders. “Holy shit, you actually came. And you look hot.”

“Inappropriate,” Darcy said, but she kept smiling.

“I’m probably still a little buzzed from last night,” Alfie admitted, and she could see his eyes were pink. “But, hey, you’re here! I’m stoked.”

“Yeah, might have to work on not cursing in church, Alfie,” she murmured, and he gave a bashful glance to the priest who was watching them, his brows lifted. “But maybe they’re a little relaxed here, letting a Jew in the building –”

“You got that right,” he replied, with a little finger gun. “Go sit down, Cee-Cee’s on her way. Hopefully. She’s gonna shit a brick when she sees you came.”

Darcy didn’t know what to make of that, laughing nervously, shaking her head. She gave him another hug, kissing his cheek, and he squeezed her shoulder, whispering:

“You’re the person I wanted most to be here, alright?”

Darcy was unable to stop herself from feeling his words deep in her chest and she bit her lip, nodding when they broke apart. She moved back with a little wave that he returned, before flipping her off, and she was relieved that he was still the same.

She slipped in beside an elderly woman with a cane wearing thick glasses that made her look like a bug, and she touched Darcy’s hand after a brief silence between them.

“Which family are you with, dear?”

“Lewis,” Darcy said, her mouth at the woman’s ear. She smelt of violets and Vicks VapoRub.

The woman tilted her head, eyes going up and down.

“You don’t look like a Lewis,” she replied, and Darcy saw her wink. “You married into it? Whoever it is that got you is a lucky son of a –”

“Aunt Helen, this is Darcy Lewis, Alfie’s cousin down from Bay Ridge,” said the young man on the other side of Helen, someone Darcy didn’t recognize.

“I taught Cecilia piano for eight years,” Helen said, waving off her companion. “And my nephew has lost his manners. Declan?”

“I was invited, too,” he retorted. He shot a hand out for Darcy to shake, though she didn’t want to.

She and Helen exchanged a glance and the old woman winked at her again, slapping Darcy’s thigh playfully. As the church organ began to play, everyone floating around returned to their seats, and Darcy kept her eyes on Alfie, trying to ignore the feeling of being watched. It began to with a prickling sensation on her face, then the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. She gave a little shiver, which prompted Helen to mutter:

“These fucking places are death traps. Pneumonia aplenty.”

She snorted, covering it with a cough as she ducked her head, thankful for the distraction. She looked up once more, seeing the groomsmen assembling to the right side of the altar in front of her and Helen and her increasingly embarrassed nephew. On the left were the bridesmaids, wearing lilac dresses with elaborate updos, the groomsmen wearing matching pocket squares and ties with their suits. Darcy had been to several weddings in her life, and none of them were as pristine in presentation as this.

“Those girls’ hairdos look like croissants,” Helen muttered, and Darcy began to giggle softly, biting her lip. “And the boys look a little green around the gills…”

Darcy recognized three of her cousins among the five men standing on Alfie’s side. The best man was closest to him, Gregory, whose mother probably complained to Alfie’s mother about tradition, insisting her baby boy take the honor of best man over the man who was second down the line, the Drysdale Darcy hadn’t spoken to yet.

Ransom.

“I hope they all have explosive diarrhea,” Darcy murmured, and Helen began to chuckle.

“If they do, we’ll smell it, that’s for sure,” she replied. “You still up in Bay Ridge, dear?”

“No, I live in Manhattan,” Darcy whispered, and Helen’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh, so… you wouldn’t happen to run into those Avengers every once in a while?”

Darcy winked at her this time and Helen chuckled, slapping her thigh again.

The organ piece came to its resolution and the wedding march began to play, everyone craning their necks to look at the bride. Cecelia was swathed in white lace, a veil covering her face with her father walking arm in arm with her. Darcy watched with everyone else as she made her way up to the altar, and Alfie looked like he was trying not to pounce on top of his bride.

Darcy remembered the day he told her he met his Cee-Cee. He was visiting New York and they went to a dive in Queens. She’d been happy for him, since he seemed to date a lot of women in quick succession, somewhat unlucky in love despite his good looks and money. She didn’t know Cecelia well at all, she’d maybe spoken to her half a dozen times in the last five years, but she trusted Alfie’s choice.

Unveiled, Cecilia resembled Grace Kelly. There was a hush over the crowd as she was revealed, and Alfie grinned down at her, blinking rapidly.

The ceremony was quite traditional, almost cookie cutter in a sense, but Darcy wasn’t really listening, only watching the bride and groom. They kept glancing at one another, sharing smiles…

She felt that suspicion again, that she was being watched. She saw movement in the corner of her eye, and glanced toward it to see the best man murmuring something to Ransom with a smirk on his face.

She accidentally made eye contact with Ransom, feeling her cheeks heat. He seemed to only just notice her, his brows lifting just a fraction for a split second before his eyes dipped to her dress. He blinked and looked away, and Darcy wished she could walk out, but everyone would notice.

She should have taken a seat at the very back, or maybe only come to the reception.

She missed part of the priest’s final words, but managed to see Archie kiss Cecelia, lifting her off the floor while cheers rang out.

-

She wondered how long she was supposed to be there. Alfie would surely understand if she slipped out before the first dance, or before the speeches? Darcy fiddled with her ring, glancing around at all the people.

She felt alone, but not in the sense that she wanted someone to include her in the celebrations. She didn’t relate to these people very well in the first place. She only went to the same school as all the people she recognized because of her father’s name. Roger Lewis left Rebecca when Darcy was ten years-old for a teenage model he met in Singapore and hadn’t been back on US soil since. Rebecca was cast out of the Lewis family, but Darcy managed to stay on.

She glanced down at her phone again, firing off a text to Jane:

**_Literally no-one here to talk to._ **

Helen and her nephew had left after the wedding, the old woman squeezing Darcy’s hand before they left. She’d hoped they’d at least stay, since Helen’s commentary was cutting through her nerves so well before.

Darcy jumped when she heard the voice behind her.

“By yourself, Lew-Lew?”

She spun around, seeing Ransom in his suit with the addition of a beautiful knitted scarf, pink sugared almonds in a little velvet drawstring bag in his hand. He had to have taken those from one of the bridesmaids, the elaborate scrawl of Desiree on the bag’s front.

Darcy tried to not react to the name. A part of her hoped that he’d turned over a new leaf in the last couple of years, since some people were known to change. She’d known him for more than twenty years and she still held onto that hope from time to time.

She probably should have her head examined, she thought with a little sigh.

“You look different,” he added, narrowing his eyes, a smirk forming as he popped another almond in his mouth. “I mean…”

His eyes fell to her chest and Darcy tilted her head, one eyebrow lifting in contempt.

“Some things are the same,” he said. “Maybe it’s the new dress. You don’t look like a kindergarten teacher for once.”

He was referring to her cardigan she wore the last time she saw him, which was pretty hypocritical, since he had that whole sweater weather fetish spanning his entire life.

“My red bottoms were in the shop. And I’m surprised you remembered any of that,” she muttered. “Weren’t you on Quaaludes at the engagement party?”

“Yeah, and it was _lovely_ ,” he murmured, smiling a little wider.

She turned to move away, hoping she could find the bathrooms to hide. The hotel ballroom was vast, with staff everywhere, throwing her off.

“You know, you’re sitting at my table,” he said, and she whipped her head toward him.

“Bullshit,” she said, and he laughed. “And even so, I’m not staying.”

She walked away, feeling eyes on her. She managed to find the women’s bathroom, and luckily there was no line as she went in, but there was a trio of her ex-class mates standing at the mirrors, reapplying makeup. One of them had a little vial in her hand, tipping it out to do a line… so really nothing had changed at all. Darcy saw them all freeze when she walked in, only to start whispering when she ducked into a stall.

There were several distinct snorts and she closed her eyes, leaning her head against the wall as she sat and waited for them to leave. They didn’t, so she was forced to pretend to pee and clean up, flushing and exiting the stall to wash her hands.

“Darcy, I love your dress, where’d you get it?” one of them said. Her name was Abigail and she had always been a cunt.

Darcy bought it on sale at Nordstrom with her credit card, and she hated that she now owed a company thousands of dollars for a piece of clothing that was probably made in some factory by underpaid women.

“I like your dress better,” Darcy replied, moving to take a paper towel from the dispenser and dry her hands. She balled it up and tossed it in the paper basket. She looked at the girl in the middle, pointing at her. “You got a little… on your nose.”

The girl’s nose was bleeding and her eyes widened in the mirror.

“Oh, fuck!”

Darcy walked out, hearing Abigail berate her bleeding friend. She glanced around the ballroom and saw no sign of Alfie, only Ransom whispering in a younger woman’s ear at the bar.

Since Darcy was tired and had already dealt with enough entitled idiots for one day, she walked up to the bar, throwing her clutch down.

Ransom turned, the girl beside him still talking.

“Don’t lift your hand,” he said, and Darcy shot him an irritated look.

“I signal where I come from,” she retorted, and he laughed.

“You can _nod_ , Lew-Lew, you’re not hailing a cab.”

“Fuck off,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

The barkeep was not looking at her, he was serving the token African American couple that stood on the far side of the bar. She could see they were frustrated, too, with pinched faces and tired eyes. The wife was leaning on the husband, staring into space as he tried to order a dry martini.

Ransom moved closer to Darcy and she tensed on instinct. She only ever bristled out of annoyance or fear when she was around him, and she hated that she never outgrew that part of her childhood.

“I’ll get it,” he murmured. His voice was softer than she expected.

“Don’t,” she snapped.

“Look at you, all in a snit,” he whispered, and she glared at him, seeing his eyes were bright with mirth, the girl beside him now staring at Darcy, too. She looked too young to be ordering her own drink.

The barkeep finally turned their way, looking at Ransom expectantly.

“Teeling, neat,” he said, and he turned his eyes back to Darcy, giving her a long stare. “She’ll have a vodka soda with lime. Belvedere.”

The barkeep nodded, and the girl finally huffed and stalked off, while Ransom ignored her, a smirk forming on his face as he stared at Darcy.

“Or maybe just straight vodka? No glass?”

“You’re an asshole,” she hissed.

He was dredging up a particularly painful memory from high school. It was her first experience with alcohol, when she was fifteen and Alfie was visiting from college. She’d managed to get an invite only because he was her cousin, and she’d started it off well, with a screwdriver Alfie handed her. She blacked out and pictures of her were all over Facebook the next morning, passed out on the floor. She’d spent that day throwing up and crying, and the Monday morning following that lost weekend was humiliating to such a degree that she begged her homeroom teacher to let her eat her lunch hidden away from everyone else.

Ransom mentioning the story now just confirmed what she already knew – that he would only remind her of the ways that she didn’t belong in his world, no matter how much time passed, and no matter how many times she pulled herself up by her bootstraps.

She sipped her drink when it arrived, staring into it when she put it back down.

“If you’re going throw that at me, remember to lean into it,” he murmured, sipping his whisky. “Don’t pull back, or you lose half of it winding up –”

“Were you going to get that teenager drunk?” she interrupted, referring to the girl who walked off.

“Crystal?” he said, and she looked at him, seeing him shrug. “Either that or I’ll get her number passed onto me eventually by my wonderful mother or someone else, hoping I eventually make an honest woman of her…”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Darcy said, and he blinked, frowning. “Poor little rich boy, living alone in your house in Newton or wherever…”

He chuckled, the sound surprising her. He tended to throw something far worse back at her, and she narrowed her eyes at him, lifting her drink again to sip.

“What?” she snapped, and he shook his head.

“I joked to Alfie three months ago that he made a mistake, not having you as his best man or whatever. He asked me first, then your aunt Joanna made _Greg_ best man –”

“Fucking Greg,” Darcy muttered, unable to help herself.

“Yeah, and he was not fun at the Kitty Club last night. Started crying in the VIP room and the girl in there with him told him to leave because he was bumming her out,” Ransom said, and he began to laugh, fogging up his glass. “He’s a sad drunk.”

Darcy felt the corners of her mouth quirk and he looked at her again, his eyes falling to her dress. He swallowed, his expression changing.

“Harlan asked after you.”

The Thrombey patriarch had been a fixture in many of Darcy’s childhood memories, namely his ability to speak to her as if she was the only person in the room, and never to tease her or subject her to the usual condescension that his daughter Linda was known for.

Darcy had a copy of every book Harlan ever wrote. She was sent one every year a new one was published. She knew she was one of hundreds of people who were given an advanced copy of his stories, but she wasn’t sure how many of them also got letters from him, written by hand.

Darcy sent him a Sherlock Holmes-themed souvenir from London when she was there with Jane, only to have him send her a Christmas card with the post script:

**_“Sir” Arthur Conan Doyle. What a hack!_ **

She still had that card, saved with all his other letters in a locked metal case in her apartment in Manhattan.

“So I guess he’s paying for my drink,” she murmured. “If you’re still talking to your grandfather, he’s still paying for your… whatever it is that you do.”

“And what do you do exactly, Lew-Lew?” he drawled. “I don’t remember seeing you on any Culver graduation list.”

He’d been keeping track of her, she thought. At least enough to note her absence, which she hadn’t expected. Ransom was a gossip – everyone from her past was, that wasn’t surprising – but him naming it, admitting to it, that he didn’t see her where he expected her to be... If she wasn’t mistaken, he seemed almost irritated by his own question. He would already know that without her degree, she’d have little chance of getting a high profile job that everyone else at this wedding had, give or take the wives that stayed at home all day drinking chardonnay to break up the hours.

He was jealous.

A bespectacled woman interrupted them, her hand resting on Ransom’s arm.

“Photographs, please, the bride and groom have arrived,” she said. She gave Darcy a quick glance before dismissing her as no-one of importance.

“Good luck,” Darcy said, and Ransom gave her once last look over, pushing his glass toward hers to tap it, throwing the rest of his drink back before walking off.

-

She finally managed to see Alfie when she’d all but given up on it, staring into her empty glass with Ransom’s still beside it.

Her cousin’s hand came down on hers and she looked up, so relieved it wasn’t someone else. She rose her hands to hug him, his embrace as tight as before.

“I’m so happy for you, Alfie,” she murmured, and he kissed her cheek.

“You have to stay to eat at least, and then you can bail, I’ll understand,” he murmured. He was speaking her language. “The speeches are gonna go on and on…”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Some… disgusting fish thing,” he said, laughing. “I didn’t sign off on it. I wanted deep-fried mac n’ cheese balls. Cee-Cee was horrified.”

“Poor little lamb,” Darcy muttered, and Alfie smirked.

“Don’t be mean.”

“How can you stand any of these people?” she said, and he pulled in a breath, sighing a little.

“I… don’t have a lot of choice,” he replied.

A couple came over to shake his hand and he smiled at them, thanking them for coming. His expression changed once again when they were alone, his hands in his suit pockets.

“And Ransom, too,” she said, “I don’t know how –”

“Oh, come on, Dee,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I’ve told you, you just have to get to know him –”

“He’s had plenty of opportunities to redeem himself, A,” she replied, trying to keep her voice low.

She could see Ransom was with Crystal again, his fingers playing with one of her long blonde curls, murmuring something to her.

“He always liked you,” Alfie retorted. “I know him. He was upset you didn’t show up for the rehearsal, or Christmas last year.”

Darcy shook her head, unconvinced. Alfie always tried to see the best in people, even their nightmare family. He was way too nice to be a Lewis.

“He hated me,” Darcy murmured.

Alfie gave her a long stare, his brows high, his chin tucked in.

“Don’t give me that look,” Darcy snapped, but she laughed. “You look like a turtle.”

He began to laugh with her, touching her arm.

“Eat the fish. I know I have to,” he said. “I have to circulate.”

“Okay,” she replied. She wasn’t about to promise anything. She might not speak to him again that night. She could tell by the look he gave her when he stepped away.

-

It turned out Ransom told the truth. Darcy’s name card was at the same table as him, plus the girls from the bathroom and a couple of Alfie’s work friends.

Yuppies everywhere. Darcy wanted to wretch when she sat down, Abigail’s brows hiking, her forehead creaseless, frozen by Botox.

“Darcy, wow,” the nosebleed girl said. Darcy remembered she was Chelsea. “That’s quite brazen of you –”

Ransom slid into the chair beside hers, picking up the name card.

“Yep, that’s her,” he said, holding it up to show the girls. “Unless that rumor stands true, that your family are illiterate?”

He said this all so smoothly and fast that it took a few seconds for his words to sink in, Cheslea’s nose scrunching up.

“Shut up, Ransom,” she snapped.

“Nice comeback,” he said.

“Darcy, how’s Manhattan?” Abigail asked, leaning forward, her tits pressing up into the edge of the table, aimed at Ransom. “You doing that internship, still? They don’t pay you, right?”

“I’m a research assistant,” Darcy deadpanned.

“Do you know Tony Stark?” Abigail asked.

“Yes,” Darcy said. She really could use a drink.

The three girls were whispering as she rose a hand to signal a server. She remembered what Ransom said earlier and lowered her hand when the server reached them, feeling her face flush.

“Vodka soda, please.”

“Belvedere,” Ransom added, but Darcy shook her head.

“I’m not fussy,” she said to the server, who then walked off.

She ignored everyone as she waited for her drink, scrolling through her phone. She took a steady gulp when it arrived, smacking her lips loudly, watching the girls stare at her.

There was a tinkling of a champagne flute being tapped with a knife, and people turned their attention toward the table Greg stood at, smiling at the crowd.

“Everyone, I have the distinct pleasure of starting off the night’s speeches, which will be going underway in a few minutes. First, we’ll begin our supper of salmon en croute…”

He sat down again as the army of servers swarmed and plates began to lower in front of them. Darcy lifted her fork to poke at the fish, frowning. She looked at Ransom, who hadn’t begun to eat either.

“Nope,” he said, and he pushed the plate aside.

“You should get a doggy bag for Darcy, Ransom,” Abigail said, and Darcy looked at her, tightening the grip on her fork. “She’d hate to see any of us wasting this food, right?”

Her attempt at making Ransom join in with her to tease Darcy about her being poorer than everyone at the table didn’t work. The joke never seemed to land, but Abigail was bad at taking a hint.

“Maybe we should all eat half so she can have some lunches for the week –”

Darcy was up from her chair, her clutch in hand, Abigail’s lip curling at her reaction. Wordlessly, Ransom passed Darcy her drink.

“Remember, don’t –”

Darcy threw the whole drink across the table, Abigail’s squeal cutting through Ransom’s advice.

“Attagirl,” he finished.

Darcy felt the stares, but she was so cold with rage that she only moved away from the table, almost smacking into the wait staff that began to circle. She didn’t look Alfie’s way, she didn’t have to guess what everyone thought of her, the outsider attacking one of their own.

She stalked out of the ballroom, breathing heavily as she pushed through into the lobby, staring at the chandelier above the foyer.

Ransom was right behind her and she rose a finger.

“Don’t,” she snarled. “Whatever witty little thing you’re about to say, I don’t give a shit. I have spent my entire life dealing with you assholes, and I’m done. I’m never coming back.”

Ransom watched her as she ranted, his mouth shut.

“I can’t believe I did this to myself _again_. I should never have come…”

She was shaking all over, her eyes stinging with frustrated tears, and she flushed at the realization. It was mortifying for Ransom Drysdale to witness her this way. He hadn’t made her cry since she was a kid.

“Come on,” he said, and she took another step back. “Come on…”

She shook her head, folding her arms. She drew in a shaky breath and he lowered his voice, not giving up.

“Come on, Darcy,” he said, his voice softer. “Let’s get out of here.”

He took her by the elbow, walking her out into the street, and she broke free, spinning on the spot to start up again.

“You! You were the worst of all! Making me feel ashamed of myself even when I was at home. That was the worst day of my life when you came by with Alfie, and you got to see my mom’s apartment, my tiny room – I never felt so _violated_ –”

“Darcy,” he cut in, but she was determined, ignoring the way he was frowning at her.

“And you always stuck in the knife, even when I tried my best to be kind. Remember when I went through that phase? And then you shitted all over it, calling me fat –”

“I know I didn’t call you fat,” he said, and she stopped abruptly.

It was the nicest thing he ever said to her and she let out a growl, balling her hands into fists.

“I hated every minute of school. I hated that every time I was with Alfie, I had to share him with you,” she snarled. “And every time one of the guys I work with talks to me about how important it is that we do our jobs, just so the people we know can stay safe, I want to scream. Because I know without a doubt that I’d never EVER want any of the Avengers to save you.”

She was breathless by the end of her tirade. People were weaving past them in the street, some turning to stare because her voice had gone shrill. She didn’t care. She’d scream all night if she desired to.

“Are you done?” Ransom said finally, and she moved toward him, raising a hand.

She thought about hitting him, like in so many fantasies, but the thrill was gone. Now she just felt tired and defeated by her own emotions, her hands dropping to her sides, her body deflating.

“Yeah.”

“Come on, I’ll buy you dinner.”

She fell into step with him, both of them silent as they walked. She tried to remember some restaurant or bar around there that she liked, but it had been years since she ventured out this far. Often enough, she never left her mother’s place, simply because the reminders were too hard to ignore, even as she walked with Ransom.

He pulled her into a bar, several patrons staring at Darcy’s tight dress before turning their attention back to their drinks, and Ransom cocked his head to the back. She drew in a breath, unsure of how smart it was to be alone with him.

She was a pretty easy target when she was tired, but he’d already heard the worst from her, and maybe he’d ply her with drinks and chuck her into a cab and tell all his friends something seedier happened…

She didn’t care either way. She meant it when she said she wouldn’t come back. She’d stay in New York and stop feeling sorry for herself and her crappy childhood.

Ransom brought her a drink, slipping in the booth opposite her. Darcy glanced around, seeing the sports memorabilia and old photographs. It was a pretty rundown place, but he seemed to be at home, ordering them huge helpings of French fries.

“Think Alfie will miss us?” Darcy mumbled, picking up a fry and dipping it in the ketchup on her plate.

Ransom smirked.

“He always misses me,” he said, eating with the greedy innocence of a child. “He’s already texted me ‘help me’ three times.”

“Prove it,” she said, and Ransom took out his phone, unlocking it and handed it to her, the message open. She snorted. “You’re being incredibly trusting, handing me the keys to the kingdom.”

“What would you do with them?” he asked, and she thumbed through his other messages, ranging from innuendos to utterly filthy, making show of sitting back in her chair, pursing her lips.

“You could have dick pics on here –”

“If I wanted to show someone my dick, I’d show it to them,” he retorted.

Darcy locked his phone, placing it face down on the table, pushing it back toward him. A silence fell between them and she picked up another fry, shoving it into her mouth.

“I tried to figure out what your type was for a while,” he murmured, and her eyes snapped to his, and she swallowed hard. “Except you’re not really on Facebook anymore –”

“I’m not allowed to be,” she said, glancing away to pick up her drink, sipping. “It’s easier for safety if no-one really knows that part of my life.”

“Even your boyfriends?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, not looking up.

“People aren’t even meant to know if you’ve got a boyfriend?” he asked, and she swung her eyes to meet his.

“Yeah. And I don’t. Have one.”

She never had a boyfriend when she saw Ransom. Never once in school, college vacations, Christmases, birthdays… it was a perpetual thing, but she wasn’t mad about it. It didn’t mean she wasn’t having sex. When she lost her virginity in college, it was done clinically, a means to an end. Once that was over, she was part of the club and she didn’t have to pretend. She moved on fast. There were some that stuck around longer, but it wasn’t what she saw in other people. It was nothing compared to Jane and Thor, or Tony and Pepper.

“I don’t have a type,” she murmured.

“Everyone’s got a type.”

He could sense she was lying to him. He knew her that well. He usually got the smug, knowing look on his face when he did, a smile on his face that didn’t show teeth, and he’d sit back and watch her squirm. She didn’t do that now, and he didn’t look self-satisfied.

“You’re jealous,” she said.

He looked taken aback. “What? Of what? Of whom?”

 _Whom_ , God that was so Ransom. It was so Harlan, too.

“You’re a phony,” she went on, and she picked up her drink again, taking a sip.

“Are you _sure_ , Lew-Lew?” he said, and she knew she’d struck a nerve.

He leaned forward in his seat and she didn’t react, didn’t move back to create more space between them. With their heads bowed together, anyone watching them would think it was an intimate moment.

“You being an asshole is the most interesting thing about your life,” she whispered. “And you can’t stand that without it, you’re just like all those other trust fund guys. You’re just like Greg.”

He pulled back, and his expression had changed, his eyes narrowing slightly, a smile forming on his face. He licked his lips, considering his words.

“You’re staring pretty intently to notice something like that,” he said, and she felt her stomach drop. “If you were a writer, I’d call it your natural instincts to observe people. Harlan does it all the time…”

His eyes dropped to her mouth and he shook his head.

“But you’re not a writer.”

“What’s your point, Drysdale?” she snapped, and he grinned like a wolf baring its teeth.

“You know I didn’t call you _fat_ , Lew-Lew,” he went on, leaning on one elbow, his voice lowered.

Her heart was hammering in her chest. He was right. He said something about her sweaters not being able to fit.

“I’ve been trying to fuck you since you were in the seventh grade.”

The admission made her cheeks burn and she scrunched her nose in disgust.

“Ew. I was _twelve_.”

He let out a laugh, and Darcy thought about it… Ransom Drysdale, a sophomore at her school, best friends with her cousin, watching her grow up and noticing her curves first, even before the other boys her age did.

He’d tug on her braids when she stood in Alfie’s kitchen, asking for a Popsicle. He’d grab her books from under her nose and hold them above her head, pretending to be engrossed in the text. He was there the summer she helped paint a doghouse for Alfie’s mother’s King Charles spaniel aptly named Charlie, when she wore the little overalls that Greg said made her look like a fat Mario Brother.

When he used to wave at her when she was at her locker, and she was filled with dread, wondering what new torture he’d come up with.

All those moments she was seeing now with a different lens, and it must have shown on her face, because he pressed his lips together, nodding.

“Yeah.”

She picked up her drink, draining it.

“And when Alfie said you were coming,” he went on, and her eyes widened in alarm. “I couldn’t believe I’d finally see you again, after the last time, and the engagement party. I took something get over my nerves, and…”

He took her hand in his and Darcy stared at them, his giant hands encircling hers.

“I just wanted you to know – shit, I can’t do it!”

He broke away, beginning to laugh, and Darcy stared at him as he howled, clutching his stomach. Several people from the other side of the bar were craning their heads to stare as Darcy passed a hand over her face, sighing as Ransom kept laughing on and on.

He wiped the corner of his eyes, sighing happily as he grabbed more fries and ate, little giggles escaping.

“The narrative was meant to be that you took those Quaaludes to deal with your nerves at the engagement party?” Darcy drawled. “No-one would believe that about Ransom Drysdale.”

“I had you going for a second there,” he said, and Darcy rolled her eyes.

Darcy tried to make the silence between them as tense as possible but he didn’t seem so bothered by her outright contempt of him. Something had changed, his admission that he’d been attracted to her for some time the main culprit, and Darcy couldn’t stop the way her stomach kept flipping, remembering more and more.

“I should go,” she said, picking up her clutch from the table.

“No,” he said, and Darcy shot him a look. “Not after what I said –”

“What, about when you were sixteen?” she snapped, and his lip curled. “Didn’t you fuck anything that moved back then, too?”

“You’re not curious?”

“After reading those texts in your phone?” she retorted, and he chuckled. “Won’t I just be disappointed? Wouldn’t it just be three pumps and then you rolling over, passed out?”

She tried to stand but he grabbed her wrist, forcing her to look down at him with a glare.

“I’m being pretty fucking honest about my feelings, Darcy,” he said.

“Your _feelings_?” she repeated with a sneer.

“Whatever,” he said. “You’ll never have to see me again. And then maybe I’ll stop checking up on you. I’ll stop trying to read the texts Alfie gets from you, too, when we’re at dinner –”

“You sound like you’re really in love with my cousin, Ransom,” she said, and he smirked.

“No, I’m really not.”

He was still holding her wrist and she didn’t wrench it away. She allowed herself to feel the heat of his skin, his fingers wrapped around her, his eyes on her face as she thought. She didn’t know if she could speak so she gave a little nod, finally drawing away from him.

She turned her back to him and walked out of the bar, feeling him come up behind her, her heart racing as they walked down the street.

“We’ll get a cab,” he said, and he signaled from the curb.

She could imagine him blending into New York pretty well, with some of that quiet confidence people didn’t often see. It was usually the schoolboy bravado Darcy had known him for, but with the bar earlier and now the taxi they piled into, he wasn’t who she expected.

The ride over was silent in the backseat, the driver talking on his Bluetooth while The Beatles’ _Baby, You’re a Rich Man_ played on the radio. If she was alone in the backseat, she’d maybe hum along and move her feet to the beat, but sitting beside Ransom, she was tense with anticipation.

“Here,” Ransom said, seemingly out of the blue, cutting through Lennon and McCartney yelling about money in brown bags.

The cab parked haphazardly in front of another, the two drivers beginning to argue as Darcy ducked out while Ransom handed over some money. They watched the drivers cussing each other out and Ransom smirked, his hand on her shoulder to steer her inside the apartment building lobby.

The doorman nodded at him and Ransom returned it.

“Evening, Mister Drysdale.”

“Hey, Sean.”

Darcy wondered how often this happened, a girl walking in with Ransom, the situation so obvious, especially at this time of night.

“Lew-Lew, breathe,” Ransom said, pulling his front door open, and she glared at him.

“Don’t call me that,” she said. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

“I’m not going to call you anything after this, am I?” he replied, and she stalked past him inside, stopping abruptly at the sight of his apartment.

“It’s a dump,” she said, and he laughed.

“My maid’s on vacation,” he said dryly. He threw his scarf on the back of his couch and walked into the kitchen, calling out to her. “You want a drink?”

“Yeah,” she replied.

She’d moved onto the bookshelf, seeing three of Harlan’s books there, different editions he must have got on his travels. He had some Hemingways and some Ray Bradburys, but what made her pause was the battered copy of _To Kill A Mockingbird_ that sat wedged between a thesaurus and a copy of GQ Magazine. She pulled it out, turning it over.

“Did you steal this?” she murmured, hearing him come up beside her, their drinks in his hands.

“Eighth grade, yeah,” he said.

“You could’ve bought your own,” Darcy said, turning it over in her hands. “Why -?”

“I liked the thrill. I liked the little words in the margins,” he said, taking it from her, swapping it for her drink. “I wanted this one.”

He put it away and Darcy put her drink to her lips, sipping.

“The idea to get me drunk first?”

“No,” he said, putting his own drink on the shelf when he put the book away, turning back to take off his suit jacket, throwing it over the back of the couch with his tie.

“Stop,” she said, and his fingers froze, the first button of his shirt undone.

She could see his chest hair, before their eyes met once more.

“I stopped.”

She nodded, taking another sip of her drink before putting it aside. She kicked off her shoes, standing several inches shorter, pulling at her dress. There was a shift in the air and she took a step closer to him, his hands dropping.

She reached up, fingers hovering over his lips, waiting.

“You’re gonna throw me out the second I try something,” she murmured. “You’ll post about it somewhere…”

“No, I won’t,” he murmured, his voice a rumble that set her off, her stomach flipping.

He ducked his head, their noses brushing. Darcy’s hand caught his shirt and she pressed her mouth to his, tight-lipped and forceful, her eyes squeezing shut. It wasn’t bad, per se, but it wasn’t anything to write home about.

He returned the kiss, tilting his head and deepening it, Darcy’s gasp cut off with how he slanted his lips over hers, his tongue hot and demanding, both hands coming down her back to grab her rear, pulling her flush against him.

She could feel how hard he was through his suit pants, her hand gripping his belt buckle as he drank from her, leaving her breathless by the time they broke apart, his mouth pink and wet.

“Really?” she whispered. “Since I was twelve?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he kissed her again, starting to shuffle them out of the living room

They moved down the hallway, Ransom squeezing her ass as he kissed her again and again. She felt dizzy from it, being bullied by him, being made fun of, being wanted like this by him.

His touch was rough and possessive, making her moan as he tugged at her dress, pushing down the strapless bra cups, his eyes darker as her tits were exposed in the low light of his bedroom, his hands cupping her and kneading, fighting her to kiss her neck, biting her along the way.

“Fuck, Ransom –”

“Say my name again, Lew-Lew –”

“Don’t call me that…”

She moaned, his hands under her dress, lowering her to the bed, underwear pushed aside.

“Ransom…”

She couldn’t believe it was happening, her knees drawn up, her thighs pushed apart as he ducked down to taste between her legs, her breath hitching with her fingers digging into his hair.

He lapped at her, groaning as he probed and sucked, and she felt helpless, pinned with his arms wrapped around her thighs. Her other hand gripped the bedspread, her eyes fluttering shut as he built her up and up…

One hand leaving her thigh, shoving under the dress, petting her folds as he sucked her clit… Darcy bit her lip, feeling herself tighten, everything start to shake.

“Look at me,” he said, and she blinked up at the ceiling, willing herself to not, only to look back at him, his fingers inside her now, her hips rocking to meet each stroke of him.

His eyes were so blue and she stared back, her face burning as she felt everything focus to between her legs, his thumb swiping her clit, his fingers stuffing her…

She threw her head back, coming, clutching his fingers as he murmured:

“Good girl…”

“Fuck you,” she whispered, laughing weakly as the tremors took over.

He pulled away from her, opening the drawer by his bed, and Darcy watched him pull out a string of condoms and rip one off, tossing it, the package landing on Darcy’s bare chest.

She grabbed it, staring at it as Ransom began to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way, his eyes meeting hers when she sat up, leaning on her elbows with the condom still in her hand.

“Take the dress off,” he said, and she tilted her head.

“No,” she said, moving back, standing up on shaky legs on the mattress, Ransom’s eyes flashing.

With the shirt gone, Darcy could see he worked out a lot, his arms larger than she could gauge earlier, his stomach hard and chiseled. He was skinnier when he was younger, and she could remember the summers he spent with Alfie in swimming trunks and flip-flops, while Darcy wore huge t-shirts over everything. When the older kids splashed around in her cousin’s pool, she was usually on the side, or reading something in the shade. She never tanned, only went red and peeled.

His chest hair went down his stomach, a trail to his crotch. Her eyes dipped to his hard-on and she took another step back, challenging him.

“You want everything off, is that it?” he said, and his hands went to his belt without looking, his eyes glued to hers. The sound of him unbuckling his pants made her wetter than ever, since it was the promise of what was to come.

His pants were down and kicked off, and he leaned down to tug his socks off, too, his eyes on her as she leaned from one foot to the other, gripping the condom.

“Everything?”

“Yeah, show me,” she said, cocking her head at him like he’d done before at the bar.

He flashed a wicked smile, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of his boxer briefs, and he shoved them down, kicking them away.

His cock was thick, uncut and standing to attention. He held it in his palm, stroking it idly as he moved toward the bed, eyes falling to her bare chest.

“That supposed to impress me? Or scare me?” Darcy said, and he smiled again, just as wide and impish, while she began to move back.

She took off, and he was after her, chasing her through the apartment.

“Come here!”

She was laughing, screaming with it by the time he grabbed her by the middle, lifting her from the ground, and she struggled just because she could.

He managed to get them back to the bedroom, the pair of them rolling around in a wrestle, panting and grabbing each other on the floor.

“Condom, condom,” she gasped, when he managed to push inside her, hot and raw, nothing between them.

Her eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, and for a blissful two seconds, he rocked against her before pulling out, taking the condom from her to rip it open between his teeth.

She lay back, watching him put it on, before she decided to finally take off her dress that was more like a belt than either a shirt or a skirt, not covering her privates at all.

His eyes fell to her bare skin as she rid herself of everything, and he grabbed hold of her thigh, looping it over his arm, his other hand guiding his cock between the wet lips of her cunt.

He hissed as he breached her again, filling her to the hilt as Darcy sucked in a breath. Their eyes met, Ransom’s lip between his teeth.

“Fuck…”

“That’s the point,” Darcy hissed, and he pulled back to slam into her in retaliation.

He leaned down, sealing his mouth over hers in a searing kiss, his hips snapping hard and fast, and Darcy thought she might see stars from the force of him, her head hitting against the carpet. She pushed back against him, trying to lift her hips.

“Stop moving so much –”

He grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head, his other hand cupping her jaw for another kiss, and Darcy latched onto his lower lip, sucking and then biting it.

He growled, pulling back, going deeper than ever, fucking her like he was angry, and she began to moan and try to twist her wrists out of his grip and failing, hearing the wet slam of him against her.

“You’re going to ruin my carpet –”

“Shut the fuck up, Ransom,” she gasped. “Fuck me…”

He was the one insistent on kissing her, finally releasing her wrists, driving into her again and again, at one point flipping her over and pushing her ass into the air, and she tugged him by the cock back into her, impatient.

It reached the point between pleasure and it being too much, her face buried in the floor as she clamped down on him, her hand pressing down on her clit. She felt his hand wrap around her throat and pull her back, catching her in a kiss as he held her there, each knock against her brutal.

He shuddered, groaning against her face, his breath hot as he came, still holding her by the neck as he rode it out, both of them panting.

Both of them sweaty and limp, he pulled out of her, falling onto his back as Darcy tried to sit up, to try and reorientate herself, her ears ringing…

“That was –”

“Yeah,” she whispered, and she made herself move away, walking off to find the bathroom.

When she returned, Ransom was tying off the condom and throwing it away, throwing himself down on his unmade bed.

“Call me a cab?” she asked.

“I thought maybe –”

“My mom’s expecting me,” she said, and he nodded, a smirk forming. “You’re not allowed to come with me.”

“I _did_ just come with you, though,” he retorted, leaning on his elbow.

Darcy grabbed her bra from the floor.

“That’s never happening again.”

“Really?” he said, and she shot him a look. He tilted his head, his face falling. “Really?”

She nodded mutely.

“Really?” he said for the third time.

“Yes, fucking call me a cab, I have to _go_ –”

He sat up, grabbing her by the waist, burying his face in her chest, and Darcy sighed, her hands in mid-air, before she decided to finally put them on either side of his face.

“Ransom…”

“Stay a little longer, I wanna do more things to you,” he whispered, placing kisses and little bites on her chest and stomach. His hand glided down to her butt, giving it a little pat, spreading her cheeks a little a second later. “I wanna –”

“No,” she said, but she laughed despite herself. “No way. You’re disgusting –”

“That hurts, Lew-Lew,” he murmured, his fingers brushing between her cheeks, making her tense up, hissing as he was feather-light against her abused clit, his mouth moving to suck her nipple.

“Fucking – _Ransom_ ,” she groaned, and her eyes widened when he moved further up to her asshole, pressing against the tight ring with a teasing glint in his eye. “Stop it.”

“Okay, okay,” he relented, and his hand dropped away, and he seemed pleased with himself. “But you got so wet when I started that…”

“I’m going home,” she said, grabbing his wrists to shove him away, stepping aside to redress.

He watched her, taking out his phone and unlocking it.

“If you take a picture of me right now, I’ll pop your balls with my heels,” she said, her eyes on his phone.

“I’m not,” he said with a short laugh. “But that’s a nice visual…”

She rolled her eyes, hitching up her dress, combing her hair with her fingers. He got up from the floor and pull on his underwear and pants.

“Stop _looking_ at me,” she muttered, and he smiled.

He wandered down with her to the foyer, his shirt and jacket back on as he opened the door for her. She felt something pass between them and she impulsively took hold of his wrist, their eyes meeting.

“Ransom –”

“It’s fine, I know you’re not coming back,” he said.

She attempted a joke.

“Say hi to your grandfather. Poor Harlan.”

“Yeah,” he replied, with a breath of a laugh.

The cab driver was gesturing to her and Darcy held up a hand, looking back at Ransom. Years and years had built to this, only for it to be over so soon.

She lifted her other hand, holding it out.

“Give me your phone.”

He handed it to her, his lips quirking as she unlocked it, having memorized the pattern when he did it right in front of her – he trusted her, Ransom Drysdale trusted her – and she put in her number, handing it back to him.

She didn’t want to linger, but he caught her by the arm, pulling her back to kiss her on the lips, and she finally melted into him, until the cab driver tooted his horn.

“Alright!” Darcy yelled, and Ransom chuckled into her neck, kissing her there.

She stalked toward the cab, her face burning.

“Hey, Lew-Lew!”

She turned her head, and he was pointing, smiling that shit-eating grin of his.

“I had you for a second there,” he said.

Her brows lifted, and she smiled.

“Yeah, and I had you, too,” she retorted.

She ducked into the cab, giving the guy her address, leaning back in the seat. She let out a slow breath, her heart beating past as the cab took off from the curb, peeling off into the night.

She got back to Rebecca’s station wagon parked down the street from the reception, slipping inside and checking her mirrors. She heard her phone vibrate and she checked it, expecting Jane finally getting back to her.

Her lips parted at the words she read from Ransom:

**_You made my life interesting, too_ **

**Author's Note:**

> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


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